Beige
by mistertimn
Summary: John and Dave go ice skating, but everything takes an abrupt turn. #tw: death #tw: suicide


Beige

Dave, wearing a slightly puffy red winter jacket, matching earmuffs around his neck, and his standard black skinny jeans and trademark sunglasses, rounded the corner and began walking down 413th avenue towards the white house. The house where his boyfriend was currently rifling through the drawers of the hall cabinet, looking for the match to the single blue mitten that was on his left hand. John had a thick pair of black snow pants on, accompanied by grey boots and a heavy winter jacket, also blue. Wrapped tight around his neck was a purple scarf, a gift from Dave last Christmas.

The doorbell rang, and John immediately stood up, shoving on whatever warm hand thing he could find, one of his dad's thick wool mittens. It was a bit too big, but it'd have to do. Stumbling over the hats and mitts strewn across the floor. Reaching the door, he twists the knob and yanks it open. Outside Dave is standing on the doorstep, finger poised to ring the doorbell again.

"'Bout time Egderp." Dave said, a slight smirk on his face.

"Shut up, Dave…" John muttered as he stepped through the door, closing it behind him. Shivering a bit, he adjusts his scarf so it covers more of his face, and turns to the blonde. "So, what do you have planned?"

"Well…" Dave said as he took John's hand. "I figured we'd go check out some new turntables I've had my eye on, then maybe go for a slice of cake." he teased, turning to John and sticking his tongue out at him.

"Daaaave!" John whined, pulling on Dave's arm. "That's no fuuuuun."

"I'm kidding, cool it." Dave replied as he pushed his hair out of his face.

"You know…" said John quietly. "You've chosen where we've gone the last three times, isn't my turn by now?"

"Well I guess, but you don't have the mad activity selection skills that I do. I'm like one of those cruise ship coordinator chicks, with the clipboard and shit, planning water polo on the lido deck at ten."

"So going for dinner in Chinatown and eating roast squirrel that you thought was chicken was one of your 'fantastic activities'?" John teased.

"Well, uh, you know…" Dave scratched the back of his head, not sure of a comeback for that one. Although the squirrel had tasted okay.

"C'mon, I have an idea." John said, happy that he finally got to choose where to go. Pulling Dave along, they walked down the street.

After about fifteen or twenty minutes, and Dave stopping to respond to text messages about fifty times, John stopped and pointed across the street at frozen pond between two small houses. A makeshift fence had been haphazardly put up around it, and a small sign painted on a board read '50¢ a person'. "There."

"All I see is a few people skating circles on a cold icy death trap." Dave muttered, dropping John's hand and adjusting his sunglasses.

"Aww Dave, don't be such a party pooper." John grabbed his arm again and pulling him out into the street and over to the opening in the fence.

Behind the sign was an old man, sitting in a rickety old lawn chair holding a box full of quarters. Next to him was a pile of old skates of different sizes and varying amounts of crappiness. The man looks up at John and Dave and holds the box out to them. "Money in the box, skates over there." he said gruffly.

Dave digs through his pocket and pulls out a dollar comprised of nickels, pennies, and dimes. He drops them in the box and stoops over the pile of skates, Pulling out a pair of skates for him, size 8, and a pair for John, size 6. He tosses the smaller pair at John's feet before sitting down on the ground to put his own pair on.

Stepping out onto the ice, John clutched Dave's arm tightly so he wouldn't fall over. After a few minutes, and lots of arm flailing, John managed to get up on his feet and shuffle around a bit. Dave skated up next to him, spraying him with ice shavings as he stopped.

"Dave what the hell…" John protests as he wipes his glasses off.

"Sorry, but I'm just too…" Dave looks over the rims of his sunglasses. "Cool." Leaving John in the metaphorical ashes of that awful pun, Dave skated into the centre of the lake, quickly gaining speed. With practiced technique, he pulled a quick, tight circle before pushing off from the ice. Landing a few feet from where he jumped, he turned quickly and stopped next to his applauding boyfriend.

"Wow Dave, how long have you been able to do that?" John asked excitedly.

"Awhile, Bro had put me in hockey when I was six. Pretty stable out on the ice." Dave linked his arm through John's. "Come on, we can go for a few more laps then go for lunch."

John smiled and rested his head on Dave's shoulder, holding on to his arm tightly so he didn't fall over. They pushed off in unison and made their way around the lake, weaving in and out of the other skaters.

After more than a few tumbles, John decided that they should go. Returning their skates and thanking the man, the stood outside the rink. Dave took John's hands and pulled him closer, resting their foreheads together. John smiled softly.

"Love you Dave."

"Love you too Egderp." Dave smirked, giving his boyfriend a quick peck on the cheek. "What where you thinking of for lunch?" he asked and they began to walk towards the street, still holding hands.

"I don't know, there's a neat sandwich place a few blocks from here that opened a bit ago." John said as he stepped down onto the street, turning to Dave. "We could always try ther-"

Dave didn't really know what happened, it all seemed to be in slow motion. One moment he had been looking John in the eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes. Holding his hand, thinking to himself how lucky he was to have this person in his life, and planning to go get sandwiches for lunch. In an instant that was gone, John torn from his hands in a blur of beige metal and a cloud of exhaust. The car didn't even stop. It just sped up and turned the corner, leaving the crumpled figure of Dave's lover laying near the side of the road.

Dave ran over to John, falling to his knees and searching for any sign of life. "J- John?" he whimpered quietly, taking John's lifeless hand. "John. N- No!" he pleaded, frantically trying to wake him up. He shook John by the shoulders. "Please John. Please, no. Please…" Dave lay down across his boyfriend's chest, sobbing into the blue jacket. Taking his sunglasses off, tears streaming down his face, he pushes the hair out of John's lifeless eyes, revealing his face, still smiling. Always smiling. Laying down next to John's body and wrapping it in his arms, he lay there, crying as the man from the ice rink rushed out and dialled for help on his cell phone.

Dave only left his boyfriend's body when the ambulance showed up. Taking the shattered glasses off of John's face, he sat down on the curb and stared at them. This was one of the rare times Dave wasn't wearing his sunglasses, revealing his vibrant red eyes. Face streaked with tears, he watched the paramedics lift John onto stretcher and cover him with a white sheet. A police officer came over to Dave.

"There. There's really no easy way to say this, but…" the officer swallowed. "I'm so sorry about your friend…"

"Boyfriend." Dave muttered, staring at the black rimmed glasses in his hands.

"What was that?" the officer knelt down.

"He was my boyfriend…" whispered Dave. "A- and now. Now he's GONE!" he wailed, breaking down and sobbing into his hands. "An- And he's n- not coming back." he stuttered

Then cop sat down next to Dave, putting his hand on his back, consoling him.. "I'm so, so sorry son, there's nothing we could do." Standing up, he offers Dave his hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

The officers dropped Dave off at his apartment, then stayed behind to explain to Bro what had happened. Dave silently walked to his bedroom and lay down in his bed, crying into his pillow. John's broken and twisted glasses lay on his nightstand, next to a photo of the two of them from the winter dance at school. Bro came in to check on him, but Dave didn't move. He didn't sleep. He didn't get out of bed the next morning. He didn't say a word

Winter drew to a close, and Dave still found himself in his room, a picture of John wrapped tight in his arms. His turntables lay untouched on his desk, his PesterChum full of unread messages from Jade and Rose, wanting to make sure he was okay. To talk to him. To comfort him.

But Dave knew he could not be comforted. He knew the only person who could pull him out of this swirling vortex of deep despair was John.

John. Such a simple name. Thousands of people had that name, but Dave only cared about one. And that one John had been ripped away from him. Literally torn from his hands by that stupid. Beige. Car.

They never did find who did. Dave hadn't seen them, he hadn't been looking, hadn't been paying attention. And still that beige car haunted his dreams, when he did manage to get to sleep. The driver, faceless and tall, chasing him and John down the street and John fell and was sucked under the car. Every night Dave had woken up from this dream, and he knew it wouldn't stop anytime soon.

Dave eventually managed to get out of bed. He told himself he was going to try to go on.

He got as far as the front door before collapsing into tears again.

Bro phoned the school. Dave was sick and couldn't come in today. Dave went back to his room and curled up in a ball on his bed.

This routine continued for the next month, with Dave gradually improving to the point where Bro was able to get him into the car and to school. Everyone was a bit surprised to see him, and greeted him kindly. How was his Christmas? Did he get that new CD he wanted?

But Dave never answered them. He sat down in the back corner of the room, and silently made his way through the day. More than once he had to excuse himself to use the washroom in order to sit in the stall and cry. The photo of him and John had been folded up and placed in his pocket, and he carried it everywhere. He always wore his sunglasses, not just so people couldn't see his bloodshot eyes, but because it was the last gift he had ever gotten from John.

The days passed, Dave slowly trudged along. His grades dropped, he was prescribed antidepressants. He broke down in the middle of a presentation on the cardiovascular system. His friends tried to find out what was wrong, tried to comfort him, but he just dug himself deeper into the hole, never coming out. Not wanting to come out.

One Friday, a month after the incident, Dave came home from school to a note. Bro had to go out, he had an interview with some bigwig who was interested in buying one of his websites or something. He'd be home at 11, dinner was in the fridge.

Dave stared at the note for a few seconds before grabbing a pen from the desk and scrawling something on the back, leaving it on the foyer floor where Bro could see it.

He knew John was the only way he would get out of this hole.

He gathered what he needed. The photo of him and John went back in the frame and onto his nightstand. Next to it he placed the bottle of vodka that Rose's mom had given Bro as a gift, and the small no-name brand of sleeping pills he had got from the medicine cabinet. Opening both of the bottles, he poured the entirety of the little pink pills into his hand. Nine. That should work. Pouring them into his mouth, he unscrewed the cap on the vodka and brought it to his lips. Pouring a quarter of the bottle into his mouth, he swallowed the pills and dropped the bottle, the contents spilling all over the carpet. He took the photo from his nightstand and lay down with it. "I'll see you soon, John." Dave closed his eyes.

Bro unlocked the deadbolt and stepped into the house, trying to be quiet in case Dave was asleep. Hanging his keys on the hook, he noticed the note on the ground. Picking it up, he looked it over.

'Bro,

I know you tried to help. I know everyone tried to help. Hell, even I tried. But there's only one person who can help.

I'm sorry, Dave'

Bro dropped the note, letting it flutter to the ground. He shouted for Dave, but no response came. He ran down the hall and turned the knob on Dave's bedroom door, afraid of what was behind it. Pushing it open, he cries out. "No! Dave, please!" Kneeling down next to Dave, clutching his limp hand, he shakes his younger brother. "Please Dave, please no. Please…" He fell onto Dave's chest, tears streaming down his cheeks and onto Dave's shirt.


End file.
